


One never knows how loyalty is born.

by kendallroykin



Category: Mad Men
Genre: Daddy Issues, F/M, Father Figures, Gen, Heart-to-Heart, Hurt/Comfort, Late Night Conversations, Men Crying, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Panic Attacks, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, submitting to the mortifying ordeal of being known
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:01:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27592417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kendallroykin/pseuds/kendallroykin
Summary: “Jesus Campbell,” Don sounded…worried? “Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay.”“No, it won’t!” Hot shame had taken up residence in the hollow of his chest, pushing the cold numbness away to make room for embarrassment. “I-I was almost fired yesterday!”“Is that what this is about?” Don gave him another shake, gentler this time. “Because if I’m remembering it correctly, I kept that from happening.”“Oh please!I-I’m sure you’ve had never had something like your-yourstabilityalmost ripped away from you, but let me tell you Draper, it’s not pleasant! What would I have told Trudy? That I was let go because I wanted to helpyou?To keep you from losing the account? I t-thought you would be-“ he broke off, screwing his eyes shut in an attempt to stem the burning tears that had suddenly welled up.Great going Pete,”the little voice was back, with a cruel humor that cut like a knife.Proving everyone right by crying like the pathetic little boy you really are. I’m sure Don’s not surprised in the least, you fuckup.
Relationships: Pete Campbell & Don Draper, Pete Campbell/Trudy Campbell
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	One never knows how loyalty is born.

**Author's Note:**

> Check me out on twitter @kendallroykin! I will not be promoting this fic there bc It’s incredibly self-indulgent + embarrassing, so if you follow me from here, I know you’re a real one. I’m not really sure if I’ll have time to write more fics bc college is kicking my ass but who knows! I wrote this instead of studying for my quantum methods math class hjsffsdfhgs
> 
> Anyway, as much as the show presents Don as this intellectual manly man, he’s very physically affectionate. He’s always hugging Sally and Bobby, he’s the one that initiated the hug between himself and Adam (😔), sleeping with his head on Peggy’s lap when they pull the all nighter. Initiating the hug between himself and Leonard on his “retreat”, kissing Peggy’s hand when she quit, I could go on. Don Draper is a hugger and you can pry that fact from my cold dead hands. Like, is this specific circumstance a little OOC? Maybe! Do I care? No!
> 
> **Please enjoy the alternat title of this fic: TFW you have daddy issues so bad you have a panic attack and cry when your boss tells you to stop being a little bitch**

Pete knew he shouldn’t have come into work today, knew that his frayed nerves were going to make him slip-up. _Sloppy._ That’s all he could think about his performance today, turning it over and over in his mind as if the outcome would change like the flip of a coin. He’d looked into the statistics behind coin flips once in college, when he’d been considering taking some math classes as a way to impress his father. Another stupid idea, Pete knew that now. Trudy had once told him that she thought people mellowed with age, slumping down into a softer version of themselves like an old couch. But when Pete had looked into his father’s eyes the morning he asked about the apartment and was met with cold distain, he knew. Time can make people softer or it can make them meaner, more brittle. It didn’t matter to his father that Pete was the youngest account executive at Sterling Cooper, or that he’d dropped his math class to row crew.

“Coxswain isn’t exactly the toughest position on the team Petey,” His father had once said. They were eating a family dinner on the rare weekend Pete visited home from Dartmouth, pushing his mother’s dry meat loaf around his plate.

“Oh, hush Andrew,” She tittered, as if Pete’s life was some hilarious joke. “Someone has to steer those little boats!”

That’s how it been his whole life, everything was _little._ He was the littlest Campbell, with all his achievements falling short in his father’s eyes. Surely if Bud had been a coxswain they’d have been at every race, his father cheering louder than all the rest as if to say, _“that’s my son.”_ But Bud wasn’t the stupid coxswain, Pete was. And Bud didn’t graduate just to start working in advertising to his father’s immense disappointment, Pete did. Sometimes he thinks he took the job as some subconscious attempt to get a rise out of the old man, as a way to be better than him at something he couldn’t understand. Not that it actually worked, his father had made up his mind about Pete and his shortcomings a long time ago.

It didn’t matter anyway, no one at Sterling Cooper believed in him either. Don Draper had all but laughed in his face last week, at his feeble attempt to express how much he looked up to him. The man probably thinks he’s a pathetic moron, he’d said just as much during their conversation. Even going as far as to insinuate that Pete was going to die a lonely old man in a corner office. Honestly, Don and his father would get along well, after all they had a lot in common with how little they cared for Pete’s weak bids at garnering praise. 

So here he was, sulking in his office long after the rest of the firm had gone home. Earlier he’d told Trudy he was working on an angle to net a big account, made up some story about Don personally asking him to help. She sounded so delighted on the phone, didn’t even get mad that she’d spent the whole day making a roast to celebrate their new apartment. “I know you’ll knock ‘em dead!” she kept repeating, “I just know it!”

He couldn’t tell her that he’d almost been fired yesterday, stomach still clenching in phantom pain at the memory of almost having the rug jerked out from under him. He cut the call short with a quick “Iloveyou,” saying he had to get back to work. It was a lie of course.

 _Stupid,_ he thought tiredly to himself. _You stupid, stupid bastard._ Why had he stayed here in this empty building, instead of going home to his beautiful wife?

 _It’s because Don hasn’t left either,_ the little voice sang helpfully in his head.

There. He was finally confronting the truth behind his reason in lingering. The plan for how he intended to execute the confrontation played on loop in his mind. He was going to demand respect from the older man once and for all, after all they were basically _peers_ for God’s sake! He didn’t want to think about the outcome if Don denied him his deserved appreciation again, his brain wouldn’t let him humor the thought. He couldn’t bare it.

Finally, he stood, absently patting his shirt down flat. A couple glasses of liquid courage seemed to have been more harmful than helpful, if the shakiness of his breath and legs were any indication. No matter, this had to be done. He opened the door to his office briskly, adjusting into his ‘public’ self despite his lack of audience. Never mind the fact that he’d reached the older man’s office faster than anticipated, rocking unsurely on the balls of his feet. _Stupid._

“Campbell,” God he hopes Don didn’t hear the little shriek that ripped from his throat. “What the hell are you doing here this late?”

“Uhm,” Pete swallowed, throat dry from the shock of hearing Don bellow through the closed door. “I’m uh…”

“I can’t believe this,” The exasperated voice grew louder as footsteps thumped closer; Pete felt his stomach drop sharply. Finally, the door flew open, and he stood face to face with an annoyed Don Draper. “Pete you better have a good reason for…”

Don paused, looking at Pete like he was one of Sal’s more abstract illustration ideas. Sometimes Pete was jealous of Sal, of his ability to translate abstract ideas into a physical medium. Pete Campbell wasn’t artistic, wasn’t smart, wasn’t worthy of appreciation. He was however, feeling cold, he noted absently. Which was strange, because it was so hot in Don’s office it was getting hard to catch his breath.

“-tter with you?” Don sounded far away, which was fine with him. Pete was realizing he was stupid to stay late, to try and confront the man whose attention he craved (if he was being honest with himself) even more than his father’s. “-mpbell? Oh, for the love of- get in here!”

Suddenly a strong hand clamped around Pete’s bicep, causing a sluggish noise of protest to leak from his dry throat. The speed at which Don was pulling him made the room swim, god he felt like he was going to be sick all over the expensive sofa Don had deposited him on. He’d always wanted to be welcomed into this office, to be able to sit on this sofa and talk with Don about work or life or whatever men like them talked about. Maybe they’d have a beer or two, and Don would tell him a few industry secrets. Take him under his wing, train him to be his successor and tell him-

“Campbell can you hear me?” Don’s voice cut through the fog in his brain, giving him a quick shake with the hand still holding his arm. “ _Pete?”_

“Yes,” His own voice sounded so quiet beneath the ringing in his ears. “Yes, I can hear you Don.”

“Oh good,” Pete blinked the blackness away from where it had creeped in the corner of his vision. When had Don sat down on the couch with him? “That’s great Campbell. Now could you please explain to me what you’re doing in my office?”

“I’m. I was going to-“ the plan he crafted so carefully was slipping away from him. He couldn’t remember the speech he had planned out, or how he was going to state his importance to the company. His emotions hadn’t felt this out of control in a long time, not since he was a teenager first figuring out how unimportant he really was.

“Oh god,” if it wasn’t for Don still holding him up, he would have collapsed, folding in on himself like wet paper. “I don’t know.”

“Jesus Campbell,” Don sounded…worried? “Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay.”

“No, it won’t!” Hot shame had taken up residence in the hollow of his chest, pushing the cold numbness away to make room for embarrassment. “I-I was almost fired yesterday!”

“Is that what this is about?” Don gave him another shake, gentler this time. “Because if I’m remembering it correctly, I kept that from happening.”

 _“Oh please!_ I-I’m sure you’ve had never had something like your-your _stability_ almost ripped away from you, but let me tell you Draper, it’s not pleasant! What would I have told Trudy? That I was let go because I wanted to help _you?_ To keep you from losing the account? I t-thought you would be-“ he broke off, screwing his eyes shut in an attempt to stem the burning tears that had suddenly welled up. _Great going Pete,”_ the little voice was back, with a cruel humor that cut like a knife. _Proving everyone right by crying like the pathetic little boy you really are. I’m sure Don’s not surprised in the least, you fuckup._

“Thought I’d be what?” Don’s voice broke through his thoughts again, oddly lacking the disgust Pete was sure he felt towards him. Don’s hand had moved at some point during Pete’s outburst, resting heavily on his shoulder in a way that was almost comforting.

“ _Proud,”_ Pete rasped out. Too tired to fight back tears, too tired to lie to Don and save what little dignity he had (if any). “I thought you’d be p-proud of me.”

“Oh Pete,” the older man heaved a weary sigh, muttering to himself about something being _‘just like Bobby,’_ whoever that was. “You really thought the best way to get on my good side was to steal one of _my_ clients?”

“I…Yeah?”

“Yeah?” Don sounded amused, but Pete didn’t have the nerve to lift his bowed head to look; too afraid to see the disappointed gaze (he assumed) would be directed back at him.

“Yeah,” he sucked in a shivery breath, promptly buckling forward to hide his tears. Face in his hands, elbows on knees. Don didn’t say anything, didn’t remove his hand in revulsion at how pitiful he thought Pete was. He just sat with him, absently moving his hand in a motion Pete couldn’t quite call comforting circles but was close to it. The only sounds that filled the office were Pete’s muffled sobs, all wet gasps and heaving shoulder blades.

“You know,” Pete stiffened before sagging back down, returning back to the defeated slouch he’d occupied before Don spoke up. “You had the right attitude; you just need to work on your execution,” he paused for a beat, his hand movement finally graduating to a full blown patting on the younger man’s back. “Which I figure you’ll learn on the job. Our business is the type you have to immerse yourself in, you’ve got to live in until it feels as normal as breathing. It’s not something they teach at a fancy little college; it’s just putting in the time and grinding until you’ve sharpened your skills. Making educated guesses are what we do Pete, today was…a misjudged opportunity. Right idea,” he squeezed Pete’s shoulder in what felt like an encouraging way. “Wrong place and time.”

“Wh-when you put it that way it doesn’t sound so…drastic.”

“Exactly,” another shoulder squeeze. Warmth spread through Pete’s chest, was this what it felt like to have a real conversation? He felt like he’d only been talked at or ignored his whole life, never actually asked his opinion or had someone to care about his answer. Finally, he pulled himself up, glancing through wet lashes at the older man. Don gazed back; face filled with an emotion Pete couldn’t quite place. The intensity in Don’s eyes made him tuck his head back down shyly, reaching up to wipe at his face.

“Here, wait.” He released his hold on Pete’s shoulder to retrieve a handkerchief from his pocket, dipping it in a glass of water he had on the side table. “Let me see your face.” The older man reached out slowly, as if he was frightened of startling Pete. Softly grasping his chin before dabbing at his swollen eyes, cleaning the tear tracks from his cheeks. “Good as new,” he jiggled his hold a little before releasing it, patting his cheek once, then twice. “C’mere.” 

When Pete just made a confused sound Don reached out, pulling him into a solid embrace. It took all of Pete’s composure not to start crying again, hands scrabbling desperately before finding a hold on the back of Don’s dress shirt.

“You’re a good shit Pete,” he could feel Don’s voice vibrating through his chest, a deep rumbling that made him feel safe (though he’d rather die than admit that little tidbit aloud). “You’ve just got to learn when to look and listen, rather than running your mouth.” A heavy hand thumped in the flat plain between shoulder blades almost kindly, reigniting the warmth in Pete’s chest to crawl up and inflame his cheeks.

Pete let a wet laugh, sounding more like a gasp. “I’m,” he sniffed, pulling back to stand face to face with Don. “I’m going to keep that in mind from now on.” Don hadn’t let him go all the way, both hands still clasped on Pete’s shoulders, keeping him at arm’s length.

“See that you do, It’ll be better for morale in the long-run.”

“I-uh, Thanks. Thank you, for uh…” Pete broke off, making a small gesture with his hand. “For all of this.”

“Thank me by bringing in a couple of your _own_ big accounts, alright?”

“Yes! I mean-“ he faked a cough to disguise how eager he sounded, “I mean. Yes. Absolutely, Don.”

“Alright,” Don was giving him that look again, the one Pete couldn’t exactly place. It seemed kind of tired and amused at the same time, but who could read the mind of Don Draper? Obviously not Pete. “I was planning on actually getting some work done tonight, and you’ve got your lovely wife to get home to I assume?”

“Oh! Trudy, yes-yes of course.” With one finale clasp of both shoulders Don finally released his hold, it made Pete feel strangely lighter. “I’ll have to go flag a cab.”

“Here,” Don dipped a hand into his pocket and produced a few dollars, pressing them into Pete’s hand. “Cab fare. Don’t even think about turning me down Pete, you and I both know who’ll win this fight. Consider it to be an investment in a future asset, hmm?”

Pete summoned every ounce of strength and dignity left in his body, as to not dissolve back into tears. He’d always heard the old ladies at church say they felt “touched” by kindness, which had always sounded stupid to Pete until this very moment. It felt as though Don’s words were a cool balm for that ever-present itch in his mind, the one that sounded so much like his father’s voice telling him he’d never be good enough for anyone.

“Yes, yes okay. I will,” he had to clear his throat, making a mental note to blame his weakened emotional state on the whiskey from earlier. If not, he would never be able to look back at this night without feeling as though his soul was leaving his body. “Believe me, it won’t be a bad investment Don. I’ll-I’ll make you, uh…”

“Proud?” Don broke in, neutral toned with humor in his eyes.

“Yes. Yes, _proud_.”

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.” It was a statement, not a question. Pete could only nod, red-faced, before slipping out and shutting the door quietly behind him. He thought about the conversation all the way down the elevator and out onto the sidewalk, arm flailing desperately until a cab finally stopped. _I’ll make him proud,_ said the little voice that had finally started to sound like his own. _I’ll make him proud, because I’m a good investment._

The cab pulled off smoothly, like a boat onto a river. Pete decided he was going to tell Trudy that he’d worked the details of the big case out with Don, it was almost the truth after all.

**Author's Note:**

> *Slaps Pete Campbell in the head* You can fit so much self-loathing in this bad boy!


End file.
